


Thanksgiving in the Colonies

by DixieDale



Category: The Persuaders
Genre: Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 23:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Another pursuit of the bad guy in the cause of justice, at the behest of Judge Fulton, this time on less-familiar ground, at least for one of the team.  This one leads Danny Wilde and Lord Brett Sinclair to the United States during the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving.  Danny is eagerly anticipating introducing his partner to a real Thanksgiving dinner.  Brett has other things on his mind, including a concern he's not eager to admit even to himself.
Kudos: 8





	Thanksgiving in the Colonies

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place well before story 'Devils' Court'.
> 
> *Reference to story 'Wrong End of the Stick'

ANTICIPATION:  
Lord Brett Sinclair and Daniel Wilde listened with mixed enthusiasm to the pursed-faced Judge Fulton outlining the 'vast miscarriage of justice' that was preoccupying him THIS time. 

There was always a new one on the table, but they'd never been sent off to the States before. The Judge called the tasks he sent them on 'quests', sometimes 'errands', though the two men often called them something else. Sometimes those other descriptions were less than polite, depending on how many bruises they sustained and how much of their wardrobe they had to replace. 

Danny argued privately that "never mind what HE calls them, usually seems more like what they call an obsession, if you ask me. You'd think he'd take a few days off, maybe celebrate us pulling off another job so he could close out one of his files, maybe sit back and have a few drinks, maybe go get laid - but no, he gets the report, gives us a quick 'attaboy' if he's in a good mood, and right away starts rooting around in those files of his for some OTHER way to get us killed, just like the kids said!"

Sinclair didn't really disagree, except for that last part. Yes, things did tend to get a bit tricky sometimes, and there was frequently a layer of danger that was not always expected in the beginning stages from the preliminary information they were given, but he didn't think the Judge was going out of his way to put them in danger. 

Oh, yes, he remembered that scolding they'd gotten from those two O'Donnell children, the warning implicit therein, but he hardly thought two youngsters of that age would have a better grasp of the situation than HE did.* Now, Daniel, he was in some ways as much a child as those two, so HIS ready acceptance of their words was probably only to be expected, Brett thought. 

And the part about the Judge getting 'laid', well, he didn't even want to think about that!

Now as the story unfolded, the two men listened to the sad tale of a very important, very aristocratic British family, well, the heir to the family anyway, being taken by an American fraudster in a mining shares scheme to the point of bringing the entire family to ruin, and taking a goodly number of other well-placed families close to the same. 

"And this villain has left such a tangled web of deceit, has used, either rightfully or not, a great many identities, so that discovering who he really is, bringing him to justice, has been an exercise in futility. I am entrusting you two with overcoming the difficulties, ferreting him out so that justice can at last prevail!"

Judge Fulton privately thought of them as being 'Knights' to his own role as a latter-day 'King Arthur', and those little adventures as being part of a noble 'Crusade for Justice'. And, yes, if he had ever expressed that concept to them, Brett might have reconsidered his easy brushing-off of that succinct opinion as voiced by M'Lynn and Charlie R, and even more so the one Casino had expressed.

"Gonna get em killed one a these days if you ask me," one of the children had opined.

The gruff-voiced Casino has been just as blunt. "Seems to me like ya got yer wig on too tight, Judge, cutting off the circulation to yer brain!" 

Yes, Sinclair would probably have given new consideration to the validity of both those views. While Danny HAD listened, at least somewhat, at the time, thought the ideas not totally without merit, he'd shrugged it aside as time went by. He hadn't complete FORGOTTEN, of course, just let it slide to the back of his mind.

However, as the Judge was careful NOT to express all that aloud, the two men would have to learn the hard way. Perhaps not THIS time, but eventually. Hopefully while they were still above ground.

Later, back in Sinclair's London flat, the one the two shared, though both holding to the fiction that it was just a temporary convenience, they discussed the ins and outs of the project. 

Then, out of the blue, looking at the calendar, a new excitement came over the American.

"Hey, Your Lordship, you know what this means??!" Danny Wilde enthused. 

Lord Brett Sinclair sighed at the enthusiasm in his partner's voice. That usually meant trouble of some sort, or at least the prospect of more of what Danny Wilde considered 'fun'. For Sinclair, it usually meant over-extertion and annoyance, but he seemed oddly unable to overcome Danny's boisterous view of things. 

"That I need to make sure I have my medical card with me?" he asked dryly. 

{"Will that even be accepted over there? Probably I should just have an extra book of cheques off the New York branch of my bank."}

"Naw," the American scoffed. "It means with any luck, we'll be in the States for Thanksgiving! It means you get to see what a real American Thanksgiving dinner is like!"

"We are going on an errand for Judge Fulton, Daniel. We are to find out who is responsible for that fraudulent mining shares scheme and bring them to justice. We are not going for the 'local cuisine', such that it might be."

"Well, yeah. But we gotta eat, ya know. And there's nothing like a real Thanksgiving dinner! Of course, what that is kinda depends on where you go."

Sinclair was only half-listening to the raptures flowing from the man sprawled next to him on the deep blue sofa.

"Roasted turkey with stuffing - though in some places they call it 'dressing' instead of stuffing. And there's all different kinds of that, usually starting with bread or cornbread or maybe both, depending on where you are! Hell, you go down south, there's pecans and apples added in. You get as far as New Orleans, you can find sausage and shellfish and anything else they could get their hands on. New York, it's cranberries or figs. Most of New England, you'll find oysters in there. And talk about different! Minnesota, it's wild rice. Wisconsin, they gotta add in bacon and sauerkraut, would ya believe? And in Pennsylvania, it's potatoes! Gotta admit, that just never seemed right. Now, in New Jersey, it's Italian Sausage that gives it a punch, and that's something I never got enough of.

"And pie! You like pie, Your Dukeship, I've seen you eat pie! There's pumpkin pie, pecan pie, sweet potato pie, blueberry pie, rhubarb pie! Custard pies and cream pies, even raisin pie with warm cream custard poured on top! And cobblers, peach, maybe, or apple or blackberry! There's cranberry sauce - jellied, whole-berry, cranberry with orange, cranberry with lemon, raw cranberry sauce, cranberry sauce with nuts and raisins. And a shit-load of other stuff. 

"It's like a contest, ya see! Who makes the best, who remembers great-aunt Matilda's secret recipe best! Gotta tell you, doubt great-aunt Matilda would recognize any of it! And of course, the who-can-eat-the-most-without-passing-out contest! Can't let Thanksgiving go by without THAT one!

"And the fighting at the table, that's a blast, as long as you remember to duck. Though YOU'D call it 'spirited discourse', probably. If it's not complaining about the relatives who DIDN'T come to dinner, or maybe the ones who DID, it's snipping at each other, bringing up old disagreements. 

"And politics! It's not Thanksgiving without at least half the people don't get to arguing about politics! And football! Gotta have a good dose of football!"

Sinclair gave an incredulous look at the American. He was feeling the start of a good case of heartburn just listening, not to mention a headache. 

He was also a little uncomfortable hearing Danny so excited about returning to the States. He'd wondered about that, after all. Usually their efforts took them to some pretty far-flung places, but this was the first time it was going to take them to his partner's home country, and Brett felt a little uneasy about that, for various reasons. Well, he was expecting to be rather out of his element, especially in the parts of the country they were slated to visit. New York City he might have been able to endure with equanimity, but Fort Worth, Texas??! 

"It sounds most, um, 'delightful', Daniel, but I really doubt we will have the time to indulge in such memorable activities."

"Don't you worry, Your Lordship. I'll see we get a good dose of Thanksgiving along with getting the job done for the Judge. Trouble with you is, you just don't know a good time when you hear about it. Trust me, you're gonna love it!" 

Danny Wilde was positively beaming at the possibilities; Lord Sinclair was making a mental note to include bicarb in his suitcase.

LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL:

{"'Trust me, you're gonna love it!'"} Sinclair inwardly fumed, thinking of his partner's enthusiastic promise.

So far, Lord Brett Sinclair was not 'loving it'. They'd made an uncomfortable trek from New York, to Denver, then down to Fort Worth when the trail took a very unexpected turn. 

{"And Daniel STILL will not stop talking about that Thanksgiving dinner! Well, any number of them! If he had his way, we'd spend all of that day jumping from one part of the country to the other, trying all those 'delicacies' he keeps going on and on about! I should consider making a call to my investment man, though; I should think a few hundred shares in any of the remedies for indigestion would give a handsome return on my investment, especially if I get the stock purchased before Thanksgiving Day!"}

New York had met at least some of Lord Sinclair's requirements for a civilized setting; the hotel had been moderately acceptable, the champage adequate, if not outstanding. Still, they'd only been there for the short layover before their flight to Denver the next afternoon.

Denver had been interesting, he supposed, an unlikely mix of primitive and modern, though he preferrred the latter as experienced at the castle-like home of newly-minted millionaire Keith Rutherford. 

They had called on Rutherford, who'd purchased a goodly number of those fraudulent shares, although on the surface the man was rich enough not to be overly concerned about the con he'd fallen prey to. They had hoped he would be able to provide some additional details to aid them in their search for the culprit. There wasn't much in the way of new information, but Rutherford did insist on them joining him that evening for dinner.

Well, the nouveau riche DID try to impress, and Rutherford had spared no efforts to impress the British Lord. A fine dinner served on fine china in a gilded dining room with crystal chandeliers had been impressive enough, though Sinclair shuddered at the thought of that wine Rutherford had brought out and poured so proudly. 

"A Gris de Toul from the Lorraine Province. How nice," Lord Sinclair had said knowingly, holding up the glass to appraise the distinctive color, faint rose, slightly edging toward grey, finding the color somewhat acceptable {"though not perfection, certainly - perhaps an off year?"} for that particular wine, though their host had not performed the usual courtesy of showing them the bottle. 

As for the affectation of serving the wine in rainbow tinted glasses, there just wasn't a great deal that could be said of that; words just did not exist, in Lord Sinclair's opinion.

He had almost choked when his host had smiled with smug delight and replied, "French wine? Oh, no, nothing so old-hat! My own Rutherford Gray. From my vinyard in Sonoma Valley. California, you know." 

Yes, Brett was able to choke it down, insisted on finishing it, even with a pleasant smile on his face. Well, he had to; Danny was watching him with such a wicked gleam in his twinkling blue eyes, he'd never live it down otherwise! 

Although he did, with a great deal of expressed regret, turn down the offer of a bottle of that 'Rutherford Gray'.

"We will be traveling a great deal, I'm afraid, and I would hate to ruin the bouquet by jostling it around," Sinclair had explained.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Keith Rutherford said, clapping the Brit on the back heartily. "A little jostling won't hurt a wine like that!"

Grimly settling that bottle into his luggage before strapping it closed again, determined to dispose of it at the earliest opportunity and by some method other than drinking it, Sinclair had to admit his host was probably right. He didn't think much of anything would hurt that wine; in fact, since it had nowhere to go except 'up', it might even help.

Danny had started laughing once they were back in their rental car, and didn't stop til they reached the airport.

No, Denver had not given them the leads they were anticipating, but in the American's viewpoint, it sure hadn't been a total loss. He'd be remembering that look on Sinclair's face for one heck of a long time. Both while drinking that wine, AND after their host explained what that appetizer really was, the one called 'Rocky Mountain oysters'. Yeah, he'd remember that for a long, LONG time!

Fort Worth had brought them into contact with the Bainbridge family, cattle baron Hoss Bainbridge being the stalwart, Stetson-wearing leader of that rugged set of individualists. Bainbridge had also supposedly taken a loss on those shares, though the Judge had his suspicions that Bainbridge might have been behind the whole scheme in the first place.

Being unused to the dialect, the mannerisms, or the territory, it took time before Danny put his finger on the one thing that stood out even more than that sprawling ranch house or those jangling spurs or the big guns that seemed to be the steady companions of the Bainbridge men.

Now, after the fighting was over and they were on their way out of town, they discussed the events of the past few days.

"Ya know, Your Lordship, I know Texans are known for doing things their own way, finding a way to make ends meet when the cattle market isn't so great. But setting up a deal with that Columbian drug cartel seems to be pushing the envelope on diversification, don't ya think?"

Sinclair, using his handkerchief to distastefully wipe the mud (and possibly things similarly-textured but of less agreeable origins than wet soil) from his face, had to agree. 

"Well, I do suppose it would help the bottom line, but it's not something I would be interested in adding to my own business plan, I must admit. And Daniel, DO stop rubbing that muck around! Open cuts and whatever is in that extremely-aromatic substance will not mix well, I am quite sure! Tetanus is no laughing matter. Sit still and let us get a little farther out of town. Let me get cleaned up enough I won't make matters worse, then I'll see to you properly. I have a first aid kit in my bag."

Danny had to admit Brett was probably right. That unexpected ambush by the Bainbridge 'boys' had gotten more than a little messy. 

Well, neither had appreciated the two outsiders tumbling to their more questionable activities, not that they'd been overly appreciative of their presence in the first place. 

The elder Bainbridge had been gruffly welcoming, seemed to take them in stride, but the two sons? There were some highly-suspicious looks and more than a few snide comments that Sinclair never HAD quite understood. Danny, on the other hand, had a pretty good idea, kept on the alert, and made sure the two of them stuck together all the time. 

Luckily, neither of the sons were overly bright. Violent and opportunistic, yes, but not smart. A little fast patter back and forth, a little misdirection, and Wilde and Sinclair made their move in unison, part of the advantage that came from working together for some time in less than peaceful situations.

Brett got the drop on the older one, getting a hasty surrender, but the younger Bainbridge had gone totally berserk, not showing any respect for that gun in Sinclair's hand, just tackling Danny and trying to tear his head off. In the battle, the two rolled around in the slippery mess that was the stock-pen, and Sinclair AND the other Bainbridge had their feet taken out from under them. All four emerged looking like monsters from the Black Lagoon. Sinclair had taken the liberty of bashing both men upside the head with his gun, which luckily he'd been able to retain custody of, or the outcome would have been perhaps less than salutory for the two partners.

They'd taken the men to the local sheriff's office, told their stories, and before long Hoss Bainbridge showed up, all apologetic for 'the ruckus those youngsters have been causing'. 

Sinclair wasn't sure 'youngsters' was the best term for two men, one in his mid thirties, the other a good ten years older, but he made allowances for the natural affection of a father for his sons.

Sinclair had smiled politely as their jovial host assured them "no hard feelings; boys gotta learn to grow up and be men sooner or later, I expect. Now, we'd be tickled pink to have you come back out to the ranch, spend a few days relaxing, sit and take Thanksgiving dinner with us. Maw makes the best cornbread dressing in a hundred miles, and you aint never had better pumpkin pie than what she and the girls put together! And the fried turkey? No one does a better fried turkey than me! Just ask around. I'll be glad to show you how it's done! We're aiming to do a whole bunch out back!"

It was a generous offer, especially considering the trouncing Danny had just given their host's younger son, and how they'd just probably sent both sons to prison for a goodly amount of time. 

And it seemed sincerely meant, but Sinclair was more than pleased when Danny (Danny! The one who'd been raving about 'a real Thanksgiving Dinner' ever since this trip had come up!) had cheerfully declined, saying, "that really sounds great, Hoss, we appreciate it; but we already made plans at home, and if we hurry, we'll get back in time. Don't want to disappoint the wife and kiddies, ya know!"

As they sped away from the sheriff's office, Danny looked back over his shoulders, feeling those cold blue eyes, those of Hoss Bainbridge AND the sheriff who bore more than a little resemblance to the whole Bainbridge clan, watching them as they drove away. 

"Got a feeling there might have been a little something extra waiting for us in that cornbread dressing he was raving about. I mean, who invites someone to Thanksgiving dinner who just beat the shit out of one of your kids and got the goods that meant both are gonna be going away for twenty-to-life? Well, unless daddy's got the judge and jury in his pocket, and I wouldn't be all that surprised. This IS Bainbridge County!"

Sinclair had wondered about that more than a little himself.

"I have to admit I was not overly comfortable with the idea, myself. Even if the family did NOT harbor any ill will toward us, it would have been more than a little awkward. Conversation would have been absolutely fraught with landmines, so to speak."

Danny snorted in amusement and, copying Brett's tone and accent, replied, "oh, absolutely fraught, absolutely!"

His voice switched back to his usual tones. "You see that big black kettle of a thing they had out back, the one Hoss said could take a full hog without being crowded? That's where they're gonna deep-fry those turkeys he was talking about, kid. I just want to be sure one of those 'turkeys' isn't named Danny or Brett!"

Sinclair gave him a look that was so far beyond shock, it would have been funny, except it wasn't. 

"Now there's a thought!" Sinclair shuddered for what might be his twentieth time so far on this benighted trip.

"So, other than looking over our shoulders til we get out of rifle range, or kettle of boiling oil range, what next, Your Lordship? Because if you think those two 'youngsters' are still behind bars, you didn't take a good look at the sheriff. Cousin, I'd say, at least, or even a brother. He only introduced himself as Sheriff Joe, never DID give a last name."

Brett sighed in agreement; it really was all too likely.

"I believe we need to check out that other lead the Judge gave us. New Orleans is our next stop, it would appear. Let us hope that is the FINAL stop. I am beginning to find this all quite wearisome.

"It's a pity we weren't able to link Hoss Bainbridge and his sons to the fraudulent mining shares scheme along with everything else, but as unexpected as it may be, I honestly do not think they were involved in that. If nothing else, it would have been too risky; it could have exposed their smuggling operation with the drug cartel."

"Isn't that what the Judge calls 'serendipitous justice'?" Danny asked. "He'll be tickled at killing an extra few birds with this trip. At least, it'll be that if the FBI takes us seriously and comes in to finish the job. Better be quick, though, before they bury everything so deep it can't be found. Including those two representatives from the cartel."

"Yes, he'll be pleased, to be sure. The Bainbridge family might not be involved in the particular miscarriage of justice he is trying to right, but interrupting the link between a Columbian drug cartel and an overly-entrepreneurial family of gun-toting Texans should put a glow in his eye."

Brett cast a disapproving eye over to the passenger seat. "And really, Daniel! 'The wife and kiddies'? Was that really necessary? Why not just leave it at 'we have plans'?"

Danny snorted, "cause I saw the way a couple of them were eyeing us, Your Lordship. Heard 'Maw' Bainbridge asking old Hoss if we weren't "some of them funny kinda fellas that don't step heavy enough in their boots?" and I'd like to avoid horsewhips and burning torches and lynch mobs, if you don't mind! And that's just some of the less painful things we could look forward to, ya know? Texas is no place to let anyone get that idea, Brett," his voice turning serious. 

"Daniel . . ." Brett sighed, trying to decipher all that into something the Englishman could actually understand.

"Look, kid. Let's just say them thinking you and me are maybe a little more than friends, we're likely to end up in a shallow grave. At least, eventually. Mostly likely in the kind of condition that means our nearest and dearest wouldn't be able to recognize us."

Well, that was blunt enough, and Sinclair had to agree he'd just as soon avoid that fate. Discovery of their relationship back home might prove embarrassing in certain circles, uncomfortably impacting their social circle perhaps, but unlikely to result in violent death.

{"(Sigh) I really WILL be glad to get back home! Perhaps there will be no further complications and we can wrap this up quickly!"). 

His mind flickered to Daniel, now busy chattering away about what New Orleans had to offer in the way of culinary delights. He'd be glad to get back to London for other reasons as well; he and Danny were being very careful this trip, and that bed was feeling a little cold and lonely anymore.

Alas! What New Orleans offered most was a new set of challenges. Not that the food wasn't worthy of conversation AND indulgence, at least in Danny's opinion. After all, he'd raved about the food, all the way there, and pretty much the whole time they were there, at least while they weren't dodging trouble.

While Brett couldn't look at or smell the chicory coffee served locally without wincing and giving a deep shudder, even HE admitted the fresh seafood was a delight, and the deep fried beignets at the Cafe du Monde well worth the heart attack one was courting by indulging too heavily. 

However, the mosquitoes were not a treat, and the voodoo priestess and the zombies were rather less delightful. And as for the snakes, well, the less said about those extremely large creatures, the better!

"Well, Marie Laveau still has a following down here, both Marie the first and Marie the second, or maybe the third. It gets kinda confusing, and I don't know anyone ever figured out all the ins and outs. Now this one, she wasn't claiming to be any of them, but she sure was ambitious, I'll give her that! Trying to turn the governor, the mayor AND the whole city council into zombies!"

He paused to give Sinclair an appraising look.

"You feeling alright, kid? Couldn't have been any fun, stuck in that mausoleum all that time. Still, probably not a lot different than the Sinclair place you've got all picked out for you, so maybe it wasn't as bad as it could have been. We sure spent enough time in there when that nutty relative of yours got up to his hijinks!"

That got him a hard glare. Sinclair had just had another good suit ruined by his stay in that place, and while he had to admit it COULD have been worse, that would probably only have occurred should he not have survived the ordeal. {"At this rate, my traveling wardrobe will most CERTAINLY not survive!"}

Well, being thrust half-conscious into a mausoleum, even with the battery lantern he'd soon discovered just inside the door, HAD been unpleasant. Finding the lids to the individual enclosures open and the inhabitants quite visible, along with the two large and very alive pythons that were sharing the side-by-side resting places of brothers Christophe and Louis Richmond had NOT been how he'd envisioned spending the night. 

Not knowing if Danny had come under a separate attack, perhaps similar to the one that Brett had encountered as he'd left their bungalow in the French Quarter, scarcely added to his peace of mind. 

All Brett knew was that HE'D awakened in the swamp, Spanish moss hanging here and there, a huge bonfire in the clearing illuminating what he could only assume was a voodoo ceremony, complete with pounding drums, writhing naked bodies and large snakes.

While it had been interesting, of course, his never having observed anything quite like it before, it was disconcerting in equal measure. 

Finding his head swimming from the drug-laced smoke from the fire, on top of the blow he'd taken there during the original attack, he'd passed out before he could determine whether the activities he was observing were supposed to be erotic, religious or something quite else. The appearance of the six new zombies supposedly created by Madame Alouie had been the last thing he saw before consciousness fled.

Luckily Danny had tracked him down and forced open that mausoleum door before Brett had to decide between fighting off the reanimated corpses OR the pythons. Of course, Danny looked at him like he was imagining things when a very shaken Brett Sinclair told his partner of his experiences, start to finish.

"Think you fell and hit your head a little too hard, kid. Yeah, someone put the snatch on you; I got the note telling me where you were. But voodoo ceremonies? Zombies? Dead people walking around, coming back to life? Skeletons trying to catch you? And big snakes??! Gotta say, Your Lordship, you have one heck of an imagination! 

"Come on, let's get you back and changed and head for the airport. While you were out getting yourself all bunged up, I ran down that lead, and the Judge was really off in left-field on this one! Not New Orleans, turns out! New JERSEY's where Cooperman has his base of operations. Old buddy of mine there just gave me the word. 

"Come on, we don't make that plane tonight, we're stuck here another twenty-four hours. I mean, the food's great here, but I'm thinking Thanksgiving dinner in Jersey with some of that great Italian sausage dressing would really hit the spot!"

Sinclair would have liked to have argued, on many points, but the idea of getting out of New Orleans - now, right away - was just too tempting for him to delay the process by insisting he had seen what he'd seen.

Danny watched his partner carefully, making sure he was steady on his feet. He also watched the shadows, made sure they didn't come too close to any place they might be ambushed. 

No matter what he'd told Sinclair, he'd seen plenty; would probably see it all in his nightmares for a long time. And as far as he was concerned, if he never saw a snake that big, ever again, that'd be just fine; never mind the way that bony arm reached for Brett in moonlight, trying to pull him back into that dark cavern.

New Jersey was a new experience for Sinclair, though not for Danny Wilde, of course. They'd been met at the Newark Airport by a noisy contingent of loudly-dressed men, led by Lupo Cardelli. At least they were met by Cardelli; the others were gathered around the newstand discussing the merits of the various women walking by.

Lupo had slapped Danny on the back with more vigor than discretion. 

"Hey, good to see ya, Danny! Bet it's good to get back home! Got the goods on that guy you were looking for, all right here," handing over a big envelope. 

"Say, what say you and your uptown buddy there get your business taken care of and join me and Sophie and the family for Thanksgiving dinner. Got all the good stuff, ya know! Well, you know how Sophie is in the kitchen! 

"Hey, look, here's the rest of the guys! Look, guys, it's Danny, back home again! Even brought one of his fancy Limey friends for a visit!" 

Soon they were engulfed by a crowd, hugs and back-slapping and loud laughs and even louder comments of various sorts. Danny had given as good as he got, and Brett felt a little left out at what was becoming a reunion. Danny seemed in his element, reverting to someone quite different than Brett was accustomed to, even at their first meeting. 

For not the first time, he thought uneasily about how enthusiastically Danny had talked about this trip, how eager he'd been to be back in the States. For not the first time, he wondered if his partner, his room mate, his friend, would be as eager to go back to London when the job was over. 

He now was starting to wonder if Danny WOULD go back with him, or would decide to stay here, at least for awhile. {"And if he does, just how long does 'awhile' consist of?"}

There wasn't time to consider that now, though, not really. There was that information to go over, plans to be made for getting the goods on the man possibly behind the fraudulent mining shares scheme. 

Somehow, for Lord Brett Sinclair, the urgency of that didn't totally erase the disquieting idea of having to go home alone.

{"Oh, well, at least I would have the flat to myself again,"} he'd tried to comfort himself. Somehow, that failed to be any comfort whatsoever. Somehow, he couldn't quite imagine his flat without the irrepressible American sharing it with him. A faint thought drifted through, one he quickly shuttled aside. {"How cold, how lonely that would be without Danny."}

Gus Cooperman was a real work of art. A bully, a liar, a sly and violent conniver from the word go. Had his fingers in more illicit pies than he actually had fingers, no one could deny that. But intelligent enough to run a fraudulent stock swindle? Neither Brett nor Danny could quite imagine that, not after meeting the burly man. 

And right they were. 

Oh, they'd gotten some new bruises, some new lumps, but once they'd moved their attention away from Gus Cooperman as being the mastermind, they HAD managed to ferret out the truth of the matter. Found out that 'upstanding British family heir' WAS clever enough to put such a scheme into place, and had done so. He'd taken his family, all the way to distant relatives, and a goodly number of family friends, for a great deal of money, all the while acting like an appalled victim. 

There was apparently a very sizeable sum of money sitting in a Swiss bank account, just waiting for him once he decided to disappear and make a new life under yet-another identity. Gus Cooperman had just been a handy go-between, a very memorable character to take the attention from the man behind the operation.

There was going to be a reckoning there, Sinclair and Wilde were determined to make sure of that. After all, he'd led them on a merry chase these last couple of weeks, and they considered themselves lucky to have survived the whole mess.

"The Judge aint gonna like this, Your Lordship," Danny said, shaking his head as he reached for that ice pack he'd requested from room service. Plopping it down on the large lump now gracing Brett's skull, he added, "ya know, this goose egg is a pretty good match for the one you got in New Orleans. Hey, a matched set, just like your luggage! Way to go, kid!"

Brett glared at his partner, holding that ice pack in place with one hand while using the other to bring a glass of Scotch to his lips. 

"Well, hopefully we can get home before I get a third one and get everything unbalanced, Daniel!"

He hesitated, remembering that repeated invitation that had been pressed on Danny, himself being included in a somewhat less than sincere manner.

"Unless you prefer to stay for that Thanksgiving dinner at Lupo's house on Thursday? I'd hate for you to miss that, since you've been looking forward to something of that nature from the very beginning. I could always go on ahead, if you prefer. I really didn't fit in with your friends, I know that and I wouldn't want to diminish your enjoyment of the day."

He couldn't quite articulate his apprehension about Danny wanting to stay for even longer now that he was back with his old friends.

Danny gave a laugh, pouring them both another drink. He'd read that hesitation, that unspoken question; he knew Brett backwards and forwards anymore. 

He set out to reassure him, without getting all mushy about it. No sense embarrassing either of them.

"Are you kidding, Your Lordship? Getting back home, THAT'S what I'm looking forward to. Tell you what! Let's you and me just skip the whole turkey and cranberry sauce routine and everything else, and catch the next plane out! What the heck, they probably serve peanuts on the plane."

Brett looked at a grinning Danny Wilde, noting the sincerity in those twinkling blue eyes. 

{"Home. He called it 'home'. He didn't say 'London', or even 'England', but 'home'."}. 

Part of him relaxed, that part that had been on uneasy alert ever since they'd boarded the plane from London.

He didn't know where he'd be able to find a source for roasted turkey, that conglomeration called 'stuffing' or maybe 'dressing', or all the rest, but he was sure if he put enough money toward the issue, Charles, his go-to man, could manage it. One way or another, he'd see that Danny Wilde got that Thanksgiving dinner. 

HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN, JIGGEDY JIG:

They made it back to London in time, alright, but an urgent summons from the Judge put Brett's plans on hold, much to his annoyance. He'd just had time to make a quick call to Charles before they headed back to the airport, this time headed to Geneva.

It was four days later that they made their weary way back to the flat, tired enough they both just grabbed a long hot shower and collapsed into bed.

The next morning, AND afternoon, was spent in pretty much the same location, that wide comfortable bed, though not in sleep, and it was close to six o'clock before a newly-invigorated Danny Wilde suggested going out to get something to eat.

"Man can not live by love alone, though I gotta admit we made a pretty good go at it," he'd laughed, and truthfully they had, having skipped dinner the night before, as well as breakfast this morning AND lunch. 

And Brett couldn't find it within himself to disagree to either part of that statement, though the idea of going out was one he was not in favor of.

"I'd prefer not to go out, though, Daniel. I'm sure there's something in the kitchen to sustain us," he protested firmly. "I, for one, have no real desire to get dressed just to get soaked."

Danny glanced over to the window, and nodded ruefully. Yeah, it really was coming down. You lived in London, you were used to the rain, but that was more like a monsoon than a rain. 

Still, he knew they'd cleared the fridge before they'd left, at least of anything other than the condiment shelf, and he couldn't think of anything in the pantry that was particularly appetizing. Maybe the freezer had something to offer, but that would take too long; he was hungry NOW!

Just then the doorbell rang. Brett pulled himself up and into that royal blue robe that made his eyes sparkle, and waved Danny back into the sheets. 

"No, I'll deal with it, whatever it is."

Lord Sinclair was hoping that 'it' was what he'd spoken to Charles about before they'd left Brussels the afternoon before.

Danny lay back, curious as to the voices, then the clattering, and then the faint whiff of something delectable, something that made his stomach growl and his mouth water.

Hurrying into his robe and slippers, he got to the bedroom door just in time to hear the departure of whoever it had been, and walked into the living room to see the big expanding table set up, draped in a white linen cloth. The tea table, the sideboard, and the coffee table, not to mention both end tables, were crowded with tightly-clamped containers, and Brett was occupied in setting the table with china and silver and two silver candleholders. 

"What's all this?" Danny asked, once he got over the shock.

Brett turned to his partner with a smug smile on his face. 

"Well, don't just stand there, Daniel. Come help get your Thanksgiving dinner on the table!"

And sure enough, there was a succulent roasted turkey waiting to be carved. 

(Brett had sternly insisted, "roasted, Charles, definitely not deep-fried". Frankly, he never wanted to hear the phrase 'deep-fried turkey' again in his life - the picture that came to mind was MOST disconcerting!)

Three varieties of dressing, including a double-sized container of the one seasoned with Italian sausage.

Three different types of cranberry sauce, various vegetables, a wild rice dish, and potatoes - both mashed and in a cheesy casserole.

And what appeared to be two huge pies, from the shape of the containers, but when the lids were removed, turned out to be sampler-rounds. One contained slices of various cream pies - coconut, banana, egg custard, and some not immediately nameable. The other? Slices of cherry, blueberry, pecan, raisin pie and others. There was a rich honey-pecan sauce as well as a warm custard to use as they liked (and they decided they might reserve a little of both for an AFTER-dinner treat of a different nature!)

"Happy Thanksgiving, Daniel, even if it is a little delayed," Brett said solemnly as they sat down to eagerly enjoy everything Charles had managed to find.

Danny Wilde took a deep breath, looking with great satisfaction at the feast laid out before them, looking with even greater satisfaction at his partner. 

"Ya know, kid? For someone who wasn't all that interested in a real Thanksgiving dinner, I think you just might be getting the hang of it."


End file.
